The Invisible Man
by fms-fangirl
Summary: Haunted by his past, Evan refuses to let anyone become close to him, but John is determined to break down his walls. Warning: M/M Slash; Some subject matter may be disturbing to some readers
1. Chapter 1

If asked, anyone in WWE would say that Evan Bourne was a nice guy; he was known to be good-natured, even-tempered and kind-hearted. But almost none of them could have said anything beyond that. Even the few who could claim some sort of friendship with him admitted that behind the wide smile and boyish demeanour of his in-ring persona there existed a high, impenetrable wall that kept everyone at a distance.

He was known to be a sympathetic listener, who could offer good advice when asked; he was known to be generous and willing to do a favour for anyone: a loan, a ride or an alibi, but he was never the one asking for advice or a favour. He was never linked with anyone in the company, male or female, and Jack Swagger said that he lived in a tiny, sparsely-furnished condo in Tampa. Although he had his share of humorous on-the-road horror stories and several amusing tales about his time in the indies and Japan, the most personal thing he had ever shared about himself was that he liked cats.

He had an uncanny knack for materialising from nowhere precisely at the time he was expected and disappearing as soon as his scheduled match or appearance was over. When invited out clubbing or to share a meal or a couple of beers, he sometimes accepted with a friendly smile and sometimes declined with the same friendly smile. Overall, the general consensus was that he was a good guy, but rather dull. Cody Rhodes expressed it best when he said that he was like that neighbour nobody knew anything about, except that he was very quiet, who turned out to be a serial killer.

Even Randy Orton, who had known him the longest, could add little, except to say that he had a nice family and was a hard worker. Not that he was the subject of much speculation: he was generally so nondescript and bland outside of the ring that people often forgot his existence. When he returned after a four-month absence for surgery to a torn rotator cuff people were glad to see him, but, if the truth be told, many admitted that they had barely noticed he was gone.

But people who assumed that he was incapable of deep feeling were wrong. There was an unverifiable rumour that he had knocked The Miz flat after a particularly unkind rib at a new guy having a try-out match and Sheamus claimed that he'd extracted a grovelling apology from a drunken frat boy who had been mauling a waitress in a club one night during their time in ECW. Evan refused either to confirm or deny these stories, but, sometimes, as he sat, observing life from the sidelines, he wondered what it would be like to feel part of one of the laughing, confident groups that swept past him and swore to himself that the next time he was approached he would say yes, that he would join in with a whole heart, that he would stop merely existing and start to live before it was too late.

XXXXXX

Sometimes John Cena was convinced that he was the loneliest man in WWE. Although he knew he was respected and well-liked throughout the company, he felt like he could count the number of his friends on one hand; on one finger, actually: Randy Orton. He knew his spot at the top of the roster meant that many of the younger members were either too intimidated to approach him, or, as he had learned to his cost, viewed friendship with him as a means to an end. He had shared his hurt and disappointment with Randy.

"It's not like I was out choosing silver patterns or anything like that. I knew it was pretty casual, but as soon as he found out his title match wasn't going to be at the Rumble he started sulking and pestering me to talk to the bookers," he'd said. "And when I told him I couldn't, that was it."

Randy had been sympathetic, but had pointed out that he had warned him from the start.

"I know," John had sighed, "but we'd been working together on and off since Summerslam. I thought I'd gotten to know him pretty well. My heart's not broken or anything, but it still hurts."

"I know it does, but you have to remember that almost every guy in this company wants your spot and some of them will do practically anything to get it. Anyway, I always thought that Morrison was a little um – flashy for you. You need someone a bit quieter."

"And who would you suggest?" he had asked sardonically.

"You know."

"What? The Invisible Man?" he'd exclaimed.

"Don't call him that," Randy had said, his features hardening, "and don't pretend that you've never thought about it."

Randy was right, but then, John reflected, Randy was seldom wrong about that sort of thing. Once again, he found himself giving thanks that Randy was not his enemy; his ability to get into other people's heads was frightening.

He had always liked Evan, as much as it was possible to like someone whose conversation seemed to be about nothing more significant than the weather, but, for just a moment, last spring, his mask had slipped when they had worked together on the main event of the Memorial Day Raw. When he caught him in his arms, Evan had returned the hug, his features lit up with a fierce joy as he bowed to the fans.

For a few weeks he had been animated and relaxed as he worked with Chris, but then it was gone and he had fallen silent again. John had tried to sound him out, expressing sympathy that his push had gotten lost in the Nexus story line, but Evan had shrugged and, with an impersonal smile that never quite reached his eyes, said that it was simply the nature of the business.

But John had glimpsed something that night in the ring: something that told him that Evan was far from the mild-mannered individual he seemed and, more than anything, John wanted to be the one to break down those walls.

XXXXXX

Evan had flown into Fresno for the Raw following the Elimination Chamber and would be joining the company to do PR during their South American tour. He checked into the hotel quickly and dropped his bags in his room before heading to the arena to meet up with the road agents. Riding the elevator with several other members of the company, he responded to their exclamations of pleasure at his return calmly. Arriving at the arena, he exchanged handshakes and a few hugs with assorted backstage personnel with the same unruffled tranquility.

Once he'd met with the road agents and received his schedule for South America, he found himself a spot where he could watch the show on the monitor, but it failed to engage him and he retreated into his own thoughts. He was daily expecting clearance to wrestle again, but had already accepted that it was highly unlikely that he would be at Wrestlemania. Just as he was contemplating returning to the hotel, since there was really no point in hanging around the arena, his thoughts were interrupted by a hand thumping his shoulder.

"Hey! You're back!"

He turned to face Randy, who pulled him into an awkward hug. "Yes," he replied. Good one, Evan, he thought as he stared tongue-tied at the other man.

"So, how long before you're back in the ring?"

"A week or two."

"That's great." As Evan remained silent, he continued, "Stick around. We'll grab a burger or something after the show."

"Um – okay."

"Great, I'll see you later."

Evan stared after his retreating figure, mentally kicking himself. What was the matter with him? He had sworn to himself that he would stop hanging around the edges when he came back. He knew people thought he was reserved to the point of coldness and dull, but he knew he had only himself to blame. He had known Randy for years and received nothing but kindness and encouragement from him, but he seemed to be incapable of responding to him beyond one-word answers. He _was_ glad to be back and he _was_ happy to see Randy and he determined that he would tell him that tonight; that, for once, he would let down his guard and share what was in his heart.

XXXXXX

Randy had just finished lacing his boots and was taping his wrists when John knocked on his dressing room door and slipped in.

"Evan's back, you know."

"I know," he answered. "I just spoke to him. We're going for a burger after the show."

"That is going to be one silent meal. I ran into him, just as he was arriving and I don't think I got more than four words out of him. What is it with him?" John asked in puzzlement. "He can't be shy."

"No, he's not. He just holds everything in."

"You've known him for a long time. Did something happen to make him that way?"

"I don't think so," Randy said thoughtfully. "I know his parents were very strict with him. One time he said something about how it had been hard going to the school where his parents taught; he was expected to be twice a good as all the other kids."

"My God! Did you get him drunk? That's about the most personal thing I've ever heard about him."

Randy smiled reluctantly. "Actually, he told that to Sam. You should see him with Alanna; he's a completely different person." He looked steadily at John. "There is someone worth getting to know there, but I think if he ever opened up and got hurt he'd shut down for good."

"Are you warning me off?"

"No. I think you'd be good for him, but…" Randy's voice trailed off. Evan was an enigma; occasionally something would flicker across his features, something that told him that he hated the constraints he had placed upon himself, but didn't know how to break free. "You'll have to be very patient and it will be an uphill battle."

"I always did like a challenge," John grinned.

"It's not a game," Randy snapped, "and if I ever hear that you hurt him, I'll break your fucking neck." So saying, he swept past John and left the dressing room.

John followed him out and stared after him. Evan might be a puzzle, but someone could spend a lifetime peeling away Randy's layers and never reach his core. One thing he knew, however, was that he was intensely loyal to people he cared about, but, if betrayed, he turned on them with a bitterness that chilled John's soul.

XXXXXX

Randy bore Evan off to a diner after the show and ordered double cheeseburgers for both of them. "It's good to have you back," he said.

"It's good to be back," he replied. There now, he thought, that wasn't so hard. "I – I need to thank you. You called me every week while I was away. It meant a lot to me; it was very kind of you."

"For God's sake!" Randy exclaimed in mock horror. "Don't tell anyone; it'll ruin my reputation."

"No, I'll just tell everybody that Sam made you do it."

"Better that they think I'm henpecked than soft-hearted."

"Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me," he said, punctuating his words with a wide grin.

Randy blinked in surprise. He could see that Evan was struggling and felt a pang of sympathy for him. Despite his earlier words to John, he did believe that Evan had made a conscious decision to shut the world out and was strangely touched to see him trying to come out of his shell. Determined to put him at ease, he kept the conversation light and filled any silence that was about to become awkward with stories about his little daughter.

"Sam would love to see you again," he said. "She was hoping you'd stay with us in a couple of weeks when we're in St Louis, but I guess you'll be at your parents' place."

"I'd like that," Evan answered. "Believe it or not, my parents are going to be in Hawaii that week. They booked their tickets months ago. I told them to go ahead; we still don't know for sure if I'll be cleared by then."

"Sam will be thrilled. Maybe we can go out for St Louis pizza after the show. Of course, the old man will probably be there too."

"I'd like to see your father again. You know he called me a few times while I was off, too. So did Sam." He paused for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. "You've all been very good to me. You'll have to let me pay for that pizza."

"I've never been one to turn down a free meal," Randy said, his words belied as he snatched the bill and pulled out his wallet.

Back at the hotel, he was heading up to his room when a voice called, "Hold it," just as the elevator door was about to shut and John slipped in. Embarrassed as he recalled his earlier silence, he forced his eyes away from the floor indicator and looked directly at the bigger man.

"It's really nice to see you again, John."

"Same here," he answered, smiling easily at him. Deciding to take a chance, he continued, "I have a six-pack here," he said, holding up the bag he was carrying. "Would you like to come to my room and have a cold one?"

Evan hesitated noticeably before answering, "Okay."

He followed John to his room, wondering what on earth he was going to find to say and, perching on the edge of a chair, accepted a can of beer with mumbled thanks. As he popped the tab open, the beer foamed out of the can drenching his shirt. "Oh Jesus!" he cried in dismay, "I'd better head back to my own room."

"Hey! Relax, it's okay," John said, tossing him a towel and pulling a t-shirt out of his bag. "Here. Put this on."

He stripped off his shirt and dried off quickly, pulling John's shirt over his head. Both men burst out laughing at the sight of Evan, swallowed by the purple t-shirt.

"You'd better hope you don't run into any of the guys on the way back to your room," John laughed. "You'd never be able to explain that."

"Then I guess I'll have to spend the night here." The words popped out before he realised what he was saying. He clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. "Just kidding, of course."

"Of course." John was tempted to tease him a little, but remembering Randy's words and looking at Evan, scarlet with mortification, he changed the subject and began to ask him about his rehabilitation regime. He kept the conversation impersonal, telling a few stories about his own rehab, delighted to see Evan slowly relax and speak with increasing confidence.

Evan finished his beer and declined another. "I should turn in. It's going to take a while for me to get used to travelling and sleeping in strange beds all the time again."

"True. It must have been nice to be able to stay in one place and hang out with your friends while you were off."

"Um – yeah."

Something about the way Evan refused to meet his eyes told John everything he needed to know: he had been alone the entire time. And Evan, writhing inside at the pity in John's eyes, spoke defiantly, "My brother stayed with me for a bit. And _lots_ of people called to see how I was doing: Randy and Jack, for instance. You even called me once."

"Once in four months. I should have called more often."

"Why?"

"Because we're – co-workers. I did think about you and I meant to call."

"It's okay," he replied. "I know you're busy."

"That's no excuse. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Anyway," he said, standing up, "I'll be going now. Thanks for the beer, even if I did end out wearing most of it."

"You're welcome," John answered as he walked Evan to the door. "I'm glad you're back." He put his arm around him and gave his shoulders a friendly squeeze as he left the room.

Closing the door, John thought about his words to Evan. "_Because we're – co-workers_." He had been about to say friends, but stopped himself, realising that they were not friends. Evan had no friends, except, possibly, Randy. As Randy had said, he wasn't shy, but, for some reason, he had withdrawn to the point of solitude and John wondered why.

XXXXXX

Evan hurried back to his room, grateful that he didn't run into anyone else. He certainly _didn't_ want to explain why he was wearing one of John's shirts and couldn't bear the idea of anyone speculating about what he was doing in John's room. He had to smile at the grim irony of his situation: most of the guys would have given their eyeteeth for an invitation from either John or Randy and he had to fight the urge to run in the opposite direction.

Things had been going so well, he thought, until the very end when he had betrayed himself to John. He had felt his guard lifting and, for a few minutes, had felt like he was rejoining the human race. The past is a foreign country, they said. Maybe he could start to believe that; put the past behind him and, finally, stop living a half-life.

Climbing into bed, his thoughts returned to last summer when he was working with Chris. His pleasure over his apparent push and the force of Chris's personality had broken down some of his barriers. He would always be grateful to Chris for his generosity as an opponent and the endorsement he had given him. They had begun to grow close: sharing stories about Japan and Chris had drawn out from him his frustration that his size would always limit his career. As they began to bond, he had wondered if it was possible that they might become more than co-workers and opponents.

He stared at the ceiling as he recalled the night he had tried, haltingly, to express these thoughts to the other man. Chris had been kind, but had gently rebuffed him, saying there could be no future for them. He realised now, in light of his departure from WWE that Chris had done him a favour, but he had been crushed and retreated even further into himself.

He _had_ made a good start, he told himself, although he cringed at the memory of the pity in John's eyes, but even that was better than the shock and disgust he would show if he ever learned the truth.

XXXXXX

More than a few members of the company noticed the change in Evan. He was still quiet and, occasionally, withdrawn, but as they made their way through South America he was seen to initiate conversations, talk about his surgery and recovery and even joke about the fact that he had time for sightseeing, unlike the rest of them. Randy kept a close eye on him, unobtrusively sheltering him when he saw he was becoming overwhelmed and John sought him out frequently, gently teasing him until he began to respond with a formerly hidden quick wit and quietly intervening if he began to flounder around the others.

Another unexpected protector was Sheamus. When Evan finally received his clearance to wrestle at the Raw in Buffalo, he was stunned to learn that the big Irishman had offered to put him over.

"You've had a hard time," he said when Evan attempted to thank him. "You deserve to come back with a splash. I'm only sorry that Hunter will have worn me down when you come out."

"No, this is fantastic! Really!" he said. He had been gloomily anticipating that his return match would involve some sort of beat-down by the Nexus. He knew that he would have to earn his spot on the roster, but he was beginning to realise something else: that he was the one who had been holding himself back. His mike skills were still weak, but he hoped that his new-found confidence and animation would help remedy that.

After his match, he ran backstage, thrilling to the applause and basking in the congratulations and goodwill of the rest of the company, when John stopped him.

"Good job! I see you're back on form."

"It was a pretty short match," he answered, "but I was kind of worried."

"It looks to me like you had nothing to worry about. What's next? Do you know yet?"

"Not really. The bookers are scrambling. Getting things ready for Wrestlemania is their top priority right now," he said. "But I'm back on the card for the house-show circuit."

"That's great! What if we celebrate your return by you letting me buy you a beer after the show?" he asked.

"Only if you bring an extra shirt. You remember what happened last time." He grinned at John and ran off to the locker room.

"So, do you think you're getting anywhere?" asked a voice behind him.

He turned to see Randy. "I don't know. God knows that he's probably talked more in the last few days than he has in the past few years. What's the story there?"

"I think his injury shook him up a bit. Do you think he really had no visitors?"

"He didn't exactly say so, but… yeah."

"That's wrong," Randy said, shaking his head. "I should have made an effort."

"Randy, you called him every week. That's more than anyone else did."

"I know, but still…"

"Anyway, he's really trying to open up. And we're going out for a beer later."

"Good." Randy smiled approvingly. "You know, it really used to bother me to see him hanging around the edges of life. Sam was the only one I ever saw, who could draw him out. You'll be good for him. And I think he'll be good for you."

"I think so, too."

XXXXXX

John had arranged to meet Evan in the hotel bar after the show ended. Making his way to an inconspicuous table, he was disappointed to see him come in with Jack Swagger, but foolishly relieved to see Jack give him a friendly punch on the arm and join several others at another table.

"I didn't keep you waiting, did I?" he asked, taking a seat. "Someone hid Jack's bag. It took us fifteen minutes to find it."

"Where did it turn up?"

"In the women's locker room. You should have seen him, pounding on the door, begging them to pass it out to him. I wonder who put it there," he said, smiling innocently.

John, remembering seeing Evan in conversation with Gail Kim, burst out laughing. "You didn't!"

"There are some advantages to being the Invisible Man. Good thing Jack's on Smackdown. I hate to think what he'll do to pay me back."

"You knew they called you that?" he asked in surprise.

"Of course I did. Invisible. Remember? I fade into the wallpaper." Suddenly, he grinned. "I was thinking of asking Vince if I could have a new gimmick when I came back. 'The Chameleon.'"

"Can I ask you something?"

"I guess," he answered, a certain wariness coming into his voice.

"You've changed since you came back. It's like you're trying not to be quite so… invisible. What made you do that?"

Evan hesitated for a moment. John could see that he was struggling to answer, but just as he was about to tell him he didn't have to, he spoke. "You were right. I was alone while I was off. I didn't notice it so much when I was on the road, but these past few months were the first time that I was home on a weekend in almost ten years. I was lonely, but I knew it was my own fault." He braced himself for the next question, visibly relaxing when it didn't come.

"Well, it's nice that you're not keeping yourself away. I'm glad to see it."

He remained silent for a minute, but finally spoke in a low voice. "I am glad to be back. I'm happy to be back in the ring and I'm very happy to be able to sit here with _you_."

John caught his breath; there was no mistaking the look in Evan's eye. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What if we continue this conversation in my room?"

Evan drained his beer and swallowed convulsively two or three times. "Okay."

XXXXXX

John led Evan into his room. "I'm sorry half the company was in the bar to see you leaving with me. Do you mind?"

"A little," he answered, sitting awkwardly on the edge of a chair, much as he had a week earlier. "But most of those guys would give their left nut to be here right now."

"I know," John sighed. "But most of them would be here because of my spot on the roster, not because they wanted to be with me."

"Like Morrison?" At John's surprised look, he smiled slightly. "Invisible. Remember? I hear things."

"Yeah. Like Morrison."

"It didn't end well?"

"Not exactly, but Randy warned me I was making a mistake from the beginning. But what about you?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed to face him. "You've never been seen with anyone, except last summer. It looked for a while like you and Chris might get together."

"I know." Evan dropped his eyes and began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. "I thought so, too, but it didn't happen."

"I'm sorry," John said, "if he hurt you, but," he reached out to take Evan's hand, "I'm very glad on my own account."

They sat in silence for several long minutes as Evan stared down at John's big hand curled around his own. Finally, he looked up at John and smiled. "I think I'm glad, too, now."

"Good. What if, for the time being, we just try to spend some time together and see how things work out?"

"I'd like that."

Evan stayed for half an hour chatting about inconsequential things, but his hand remained in John's and when he began to yawn, John stood, gently pulling him up. "You must be beat," he said. "You've had an exciting evening."

"I am. I guess the adrenaline high has worn off."

"Then I'll let you turn in." He took his face between his hands and kissed him very softly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning before we head out to the airport."

XXXXXX

By Thursday Evan had run out of things to do. He had worked out every day, read three books from cover to cover and watched hours of TV. He had even given considerable thought to repainting his kitchen, but finally admitted to himself that he was trying to occupy his mind so he wouldn't have to think about John. He wasn't blind; he had caught John's eyes on him once or twice last year and, when he heard that his relationship with Morrison had ended, promised himself that he would respond to the invitation that he had seen there. He wasn't in love with him, but he had always liked and admired him and he was tired of being alone. He knew that getting involved with John would draw many eyes to him, which made him very uncomfortable, but he was determined to push through his self-imposed barriers.

Then tell him the truth, he thought. John had the right to know and he knew that he could not build any sort of a relationship while fearing John's reaction when he learned. Better to get it out in the open before he risked himself. At least he knew he could trust that John would keep it to himself no matter how he reacted. But he quailed inside at the thought of sharing it with anyone. Only one other person knew and he desperately needed reassurance that he was making the right decision. Randy had told him what he was up to during his time off from the road this week. Recalling his words and determining Randy's whereabouts, he picked up his phone and called St Louis.

XXXXXX

Evan was disappointed, but not surprised, to learn that his spot on the roster had not really changed on his return. He was usually booked to win in the house-shows, but on Raw he was expected to do the job. He had, however, been promised a good match at the up-coming Raw in St Louis and was looking forward to it, especially since his parents had changed their travel plans in order to be there. He couldn't help but hope that after Wrestlemania there might be an opportunity to rise on the card.

He and John usually got together during each loop, but John was so busy promoting Wrestlemania that their time together was minimal. John treated him with the utmost gentleness and patience, doing nothing more than taking him into his arms for a brief embrace, never pressing him for more. Evan responded with increasing ardour as his respect and liking for John grew almost daily and he was determined to share the truth with him soon. If John could accept it, he told himself, he would be ready to give himself without reservation.

Randy approached him on the Friday before the St Louis Raw. "Hey," he said, "Sam was disappointed that you won't be staying with us, after all."

"So was I, actually, but with my parents changing their plans and everything…" his voice trailed off.

"I understand," Randy said, "and so does Sam, but she'd like you to come to lunch on Monday. The old man will be there."

"I'd like that," he answered.

"She's invited John, too." Randy added with a sly grin.

"That's nice," Evan remarked blandly, but he could not prevent the flush that crept up his neck and cheeks.

"Evan," Randy said gently, "we've known each other a long time, haven't we?" He continued as Evan nodded, "And you know I've never wanted anything for you, except that you be happy?"

"Yes," he replied in a low voice, staring at the floor.

"Then give John a chance. He's a good man and he cares about you." Randy could see Evan's discomfort as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes darting about as if looking for an escape. "Stop keeping him at arm's length or let him go. It's not fair to him."

"I know," he muttered, "and – and I want to."

"Then do it."

XXXXXX

It was easy for Randy to tell him to open up to John and he desperately wanted to, but years of self-imposed restraint could not be easily set aside. Finally, he decided that once the St Louis show was past, he would talk seriously with him. "Give John some credit," he remembered his phone conversation. "You say you admire and trust him; show it."

But sitting in John's room after the show that night, he felt more tongue-tied than he had in weeks: the enormity of what he wanted to say blocking out his ability to say anything at all.

"I was thinking," John said, sitting on the edge of the bed, "we've barely had a moment to ourselves the past couple of weeks, and it will only get worse as we get closer to Wrestlemania."

"It's okay," he mumbled. "I know you're very busy right now."

"It's not okay," John insisted. "How can we ever get to know each other properly when all we can manage is a half-hour or so late at night, when we're both tired and sore? I have an idea. What if we try travelling together for a bit? Just driving from one town to the next. Most of those drives are pretty boring. We'd have plenty of time to talk."

Evan felt his heart sink. Plenty of time to talk was exactly what he didn't need; not until he managed tell John.

Watching Evan sit silently, refusing to meet his eyes, John felt his control desert him. "Dammit Evan!" he snapped. "What is the matter with you? I've tried to understand and I've tried to be patient, but you keep pushing me away!"

"I know you've been patient," he cried desperately, "and I appreciate it more than I can ever say, but –"

"But what? I'm not made of stone, you know. I sit three feet away from you, when all I want to do is hold you in my arms. Why won't you let me get close to you? Why?"

"It's not just you, John. It's –"

"I know it's not just me," he interrupted. "That's the only thing that gives me any hope. The only one you let in is Randy." Suddenly he caught his breath. "Are you in love with Randy? Is that why you keep away from everyone?"

"No! No!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in horror. "Is that what people think? That I'm carrying around some hopeless torch for Randy?" His voice began to rise. "Am I that pathetic? That pitiable?" He leapt from the chair and began to stride around the room, his fists clenched. "You people know nothing about me! Do you hear me?" he shouted as he whirled to face John. "Nothing!"

And John, stunned at the sight of Evan, flushed and animated with anger, his eyes glittering with rage, stood and caught him by the wrists, pulling him against his own body, as he brought his mouth down upon the younger man's. Evan responded fervently, opening his mouth to receive John's kisses, as the bigger man scooped him up in his arms and laid him down on the bed.

"Is this so terrible?" he murmured as he covered Evan's body with his own, kissing him hungrily.

With surprising strength, Evan pushed him off and rolled on top of him. "It's not terrible at all," he whispered as he scraped his teeth along John's jaw line, pulling up his t-shirt to reveal his heavily muscled chest.

John rolled on top of Evan and pulled his shirt open with one motion. "In fact, it's rather nice, isn't it?" he laughed as he fastened his mouth to the spot where Evan's neck met his shoulder and sucked hard. It would probably leave a mark, but he found himself hoping it would as he sought to claim this eager, responsive Evan as his own.

Evan cradled his head as he threw his head back baring his throat to John's lips, revelling in John's caresses and his own avid response to them as his barriers began to crumble. Shaking with need, he pushed John onto his back again and straddled his hips, catching hold of his hands and placing them on his chest. John caught his breath at the sight of his big hands covering so much of the other man's torso and began to trace delicate patterns with his slightly calloused fingertips across his smooth skin. Evan arched his back and sighed with pleasure, his own fingers seeking out the ridges and contours of John's chest, teasing his nipples to hard nubs.

Crushing Evan to his chest, he rolled on top of the smaller man and sought his lips again. Evan writhed under him, kissing him greedily, pulling his lower lip into his mouth and nibbling on it as his hands reached out to cup his buttocks to pull him closer.

Suddenly, John realised that Evan was laughing softly and raised his head to look at him in puzzlement.

"If we roll over one more time," he chuckled, "we'll be on the floor."

It was true, John noticed: they were precariously near the edge of the bed. Lying back in the middle of the bed, he pulled Evan close, so that his head rested on his shoulder, trailing his fingers down his back as he struggled to regain his composure.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper just now," he said. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."

"I don't blame you," Evan said, raising himself up on one elbow to look at him. "You have been very patient; you deserve better than this."

"Why not let me be the judge of that? But," he said, drawing a finger along Evan's jaw line, "like I said, I'm not made of stone and neither are you, obviously. I'm willing to wait, but I need to know that there's hope."

"There is," Evan said in a low voice. "Soon, I promise. And I like your idea of driving together. The only other person I ever travelled with was Jack and he insisted on playing the radio full blast, singing along at the top of his voice."

"I think I can promise not to do that," John replied. He sat up and retrieved Evan's shirt. "Now, put your shirt on and get out before I regret being so damned noble."

"But you are," he said earnestly as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. "I mean it; you are a truly good man and you have no idea how rare that is."

"Aw – shucks," John grinned, trying to lighten the atmosphere. He began to laugh as he realised that he torn most of the buttons off Evan's shirt. "Here," he said, handing him his own t-shirt.

"I think I'd better start keeping a spare shirt in your room," Evan quipped. "Mine keep getting ruined."

"Or better yet," John replied, "you could start staying in my room. Then it wouldn't matter."

"Maybe we could try that sometime next week," Evan said as he reached up to give him a kiss.

"Maybe we could," he said as he returned the kiss and walked him to the door.

Alone, John reflected on the events of that evening. Although he regretted his outburst, perhaps it had been a good thing and, thinking of Evan's impassioned response, he was confident that Evan would soon overcome that part of himself that prevented him from yielding completely.

XXXXXX

John was already at Randy's house when Evan arrived shortly before noon on Monday. He hugged Sam affectionately and shook hands with Cowboy Bob, but as soon as Alanna jumped from her father's lap and ran over to him, he allowed himself to be dragged over to where she kept her toys and squatted down, gravely listening to her babble.

"He loves her," John said to Randy as he watched Evan tickle her until she squealed for mercy and sweep her up into his arms, blowing raspberries on her cheeks.

"I told you; he's a completely different person around her. I'm going to ask him to be godfather if we have another one."

"And who's this?" Evan asked, balancing Alanna on his hip as a tiny ginger tabby kitten wove around his ankles.

"Kitty!" she exclaimed.

"Does he have a name?"

"Kitty," she insisted.

"I wanted to call him Sheamus," Randy commented, "but I was overruled."

Alanna wrinkled her nose. "Sheamus nasty!"

Evan began to laugh. "So who are you going to cheer for tonight, Princess?"

"Daddy!" she crowed.

"And who else?" Bob Orton asked, his lip twitching.

"Evan!" She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.

"What about John?" Orton persevered. "Let's go Cena!" he chanted.

"Cena sucks!" she finished.

"Randy!" Sam exclaimed as John and the others convulsed with laughter, "did you teach her that?" She rolled her eyes as Randy and his father exchanged conspiratorial glances. "Just for that, you can get her to go down for her nap."

Randy detached his daughter from Evan and carried her upstairs, giggling and singing out, "Cena sucks!" over and over.

"I'm sorry about that, John," Sam said as she led them to the dining room. "Randy and his father have a very warped sense of humour." She glared at Bob as he took his seat.

"It's okay," John laughed. "At least they didn't teach her any of the old-school ECW chants."

"Don't give them any ideas," she said cringing at the thought.

Randy joined them shortly, grumbling that he couldn't stay too long. "I ran into an old high school buddy a couple of weeks ago. He talked me into showing up at some charity thing this afternoon. I'll see you all at the arena this evening."

"Don't worry about it," Evan chuckled. "After all, John and I can hang out with you any time. John's got some PR gig this afternoon, so I'll have Sam and Alanna all to myself."

After everyone else had departed, Evan helped Sam clear the table. "Evan," she said, "it's so good to see you like this. You seem happier than I can ever remember. Are you and John…?" Her voice trailed off.

"Not yet," he replied, turning bright pink, "but soon."

"I'm glad," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "You deserve to be happy."

XXXXXX

"_You deserve to be happy_." Sam's words echoed in his mind as he drove to the arena. Yes, he did. He'd made mistakes in the past, but, finally, he realised that the biggest mistake he'd ever made was allowing the past to rule his life: cutting himself off from the world, afraid to live and afraid to love. Well, no longer, he decided, the memory of John's arms around him and John's lips on his giving him strength. Remembering the tenderness in John's blue eyes, the kindness and patience he had shown, he knew that he trusted John with every fibre of his being. And he knew something else: that he had grown to love him. He leapt from his car and hurried through the corridor to John's dressing room, anxious not to waste another minute.

XXXXXX

Randy could feel his smile becoming more and more fixed as put his arm around another giggling teenaged girl and faced the camera. Still, it was better than some of the others, older women with wandering hands, who slipped their phone numbers in his pocket and drunken frat boys in bars, who wanted to see how tough he really was. Thank God the session was at an end.

One of the organisers came over and shook his hand. "Thank you so much for agreeing to this," he said, "especially since you gave up time you could have spent with your own family."

"I'm glad I could help," he replied. "Now that I think about it, I should have brought Evan with me. He's a local boy too. Maybe next time."

"I'm afraid I don't follow wrestling. Evan who?"

"Bourne. He went to high school not far from here. His parents are both teachers."

The other man's features clouded briefly. "It's probably just as well that you didn't. Considering…"

"Considering what?" Randy snapped and listened in growing shock and horror as he told him.

XXXXXX

Evan sat chatting with John in his dressing room, unable to hide his excitement. "My whole family is here," he said. "Even my brother made it. I was wondering…"

"Wondering what?" John asked.

"I was wondering if you'd like to meet them after the show," he said.

John's heart leapt at the significance of those words. "I'd like that very much," he said softly.

"I – I told my brother a little bit about us. He wrestles too, you know. He said he'd heard a couple of things through the grapevine."

"I'm not surprised," John answered. "Is that why you won't share my dressing room? Because you think people will talk about us? They already are and it's going to get a lot worse after next week."

"I know and I don't mind too much, but I'm just trying to get used to the idea."

"Take as long as you need," John said, cupping his chin. "I'm not going anywhere."

Evan twined his arms around John's neck. "You'd better not," he grinned as he reached up to kiss him.

Suddenly, the door flew open and Randy burst into the room.

"Ever hear of knocking?" John asked sardonically as Evan turned bright pink with embarrassment at being caught in John's arms.

Randy carefully closed the door and crossed the small room purposefully. "You sick bastard!" he hissed, knocking Evan to the floor with a single blow to the jaw. "You perverted little fuck!" he whispered as he dropped to the ground, punching him over and over.

"Randy!" John shouted as he attempted to pull him off the fallen man. "What the fuck…"

"You rotten piece of shit!" he yelled, struggling to break free from John's iron hold. "I left you alone with my wife! I let you touch my daughter! You – you –" Red-faced and incoherent with rage, he panted, "I'm going to Vince tomorrow and telling him exactly what sort of scum you are. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you! I swear it!"

Finally, John slammed Randy against the wall, twisting his arm painfully behind him. "Unless you want me to fuck up your shoulder for good, you'd better get out of here now," he snarled.

Randy suddenly became eerily calm. "Ask him," he said in a bizarrely conversational tone. "Watch him try to deny it."

By this time, Evan had sat up. "No, I won't," he whispered hoarsely. "I'll go. You'll never see me again."

John watched this exchange, dumbstruck as he realised that Evan had not attempted to defend himself or fight back in any way. "Get out! Now!" he commanded, unable to hide his surprise as Randy obeyed without another word. He helped Evan up and guided him to a chair. "I'll go find the trainer," he said. "Don't move."

He returned a few minutes later with an older man, who, hardened by years on the road with the company, showed no surprise at the sight of Evan, blood streaming from his nose and lip, one eye already beginning to close. He tended to him quickly, pronouncing no permanent damage; ice and time were all that was necessary.

"Will you tell the road agents he can't go on tonight?" John asked in a low voice, thanking him as he assented and left the room.

"My family –" Evan mumbled.

"Send your brother a text. I'll talk to security and get him backstage and bring him here," John said, grateful for the immediate necessity of focussing on practical matters.

About ten minutes later, he led Evan's brother into the dressing room.

"Jesus Christ!" he exploded. "What happened to you?"

"I ran into a fist," he answered with a weak smile.

"He can't go on tonight," John said. "Can you come up with something to tell your parents?"

"I'll try. Do you want to go home?"

"To Mom and Dad's? I – I'd rather not."

"I don't blame you," he said, smiling wryly. "I'll take you back to my place."

"Thanks Mike."

"I'll go talk to Mom and Dad. Then I'll get my car and bring it round to the door. Can you make sure security will let me through?" he asked John.

"Of course," he said. "I'll be right back," he added as they slipped out the door.

Returning a few minutes later, he found Evan sitting motionless, where he had left him. "Let's clean you up a bit," he said as he wet a towel and sponged the blood from Evan's face. Peeling off his blood-soaked t-shirt, he pulled one from his own bag and handed it to him. "Here. Put this on."

Evan smiled faintly as he pulled it over his head. "I should go to the souvenir stand and buy them out. You must be running short by now."

Worried by Evan's unnatural calm, John found a hoodie and gently pulled it over Evan's head. "Let's see if we can't get you to the door without more than a couple hundred people seeing you. I'll get your bag from the locker room later and bring it to your brother's place after the show."

"Thank you," he said dully as he withdrew as much as possible into the hood John pulled up over his head.

He followed John silently down the corridor to a side entrance to the arena. Although he drew a few sidelong glances, he went mostly unnoticed in the chaotic backstage. As he opened the door, John barely heard him as he murmured, "I guess being the Invisible Man has some advantages."

John felt his throat close, but managed to reply, "I have to get back there. I'll see you later when I bring your stuff. Okay?"

"Sure," he muttered as he climbed into the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Somehow, John got through the show that night although he could feel Randy's eyes boring into him across the backstage as he retrieved Evan's bag and climbed into his rental car. Arriving at Mike's building, he was buzzed upstairs and made his way to his apartment.

As Mike let him in he whispered, "How is he? What has he said?'

"Nothing," Mike sighed, "but he never does." As he led John into the living room, where Evan was sitting on the couch holding an ice-pack to his face, he said, "I'm going to turn in, but you can stay as long as you want, John."

John sat next to Evan, wincing at the sight of his battered face. "What did Mike tell your folks?"

"That I'd been in a minor car accident and banged my face against the steering wheel. He said he was going to fetch me from the Emergency Room and bring me straight here, but that I wanted them to stay and enjoy the show because I knew they had been looking forward to seeing Randy as well." This was punctuated by a grim chuckle.

"Did they believe him?"

"I don't know, but he convinced them that I needed to be alone. What were they saying backstage?" he asked expressionlessly.

"The official story is that a couple of segments ran over and there wasn't time for your match. Anyone who knows or thinks otherwise is keeping their mouth shut."

"Well, of course they would around you." He fell silent again.

After several long minutes, John finally asked, "Can you tell me what this was all about? What happened? What set Randy off like that? And why did you just lie there and take it?"

Evan put the ice-pack down and began to twist his hands in his lap. "It's funny," he began, "I was going to tell you everything this week while we drove together."

"Tell me what?" he asked, sensing that the key to Evan's solitude was about to be revealed.

"About ten years ago," he said in a low voice, "I was arrested."

"For what?" John exclaimed. "We've all done stupid things; we've all done things we're ashamed of. God knows Randy's in no position to judge. Look at his record."

"Not for anything like this."

"Like what? Please! Talk to me!" he said, grasping Evan's hands. "What were the charges?"

"Statutory rape."

John dropped Evan's hands and stared at him in horror. The image of Evan tickling little Alanna came to his mind and, suddenly, he understood the nature of Randy's rage.

"You're disgusted," Evan said dully. "I can tell. I don't blame you."

Forcing himself to remain calm, John asked, "Will you tell me about it? What happened exactly?" In spite of his shock, every instinct he possessed screamed that there was more than what Evan was saying.

Evan swallowed convulsively and began to speak. "It was at the end of my junior year; one of those last day of school parties. One of the girls in my class… Her parents had gone away for the weekend. There was a lot of booze. You know the kind of thing I'm talking about."

"Of course. We've all been to a couple of those things."

"I was sixteen; I was just beginning to understand what I was and I didn't want to be that way. I was terrified that people would find out. Some of the jocks at school had already started making faggot jokes around me and I was desperately afraid they were right."

"I can understand that," John said softly, remembering occasional dark periods in his own youth.

"Everybody was really drunk, including me," Evan said, staring straight ahead. "Most of us had never had more that a sip or two before. There was this girl… I didn't know her; she didn't go to our school. She was too drunk to know what she was doing; I should have known better, but she was interested and I – I was so scared about what was going on with me. Anyway, the party got really rowdy and one of the neighbours called the police. They caught us. She was somebody's younger sister; she was only thirteen."

"You didn't know that, did you?"

"No!" Evan exclaimed desperately, "but that's no excuse in the eyes of the law. The police took me away. I spent the night in a holding cell until my father could come and post bail." He shuddered at the memory of the anger and disappointment in his father's face as he was led before the judge in shackles.

"But you were a minor yourself."

"It didn't matter. State law says that if she's under fourteen it's rape."

"So what happened next? You didn't go to prison, did you?"

"My parents spent thousands on a lawyer. I guess he was worth it because the charges were dropped. There's no official record, but there are always a few who remember. I always knew it would come out one day."

John sat silently digesting this information. "You've carried this around for ten years," he finally said. "Is this why you've always tried to be so – so"

"Invisible?" Evan interrupted. "Yes. My senior year was a nightmare. The only way I could cope was to shut everyone out and shut down completely."

"And you've been doing it ever since."

"Yes. I always knew that something like tonight was bound to happen. I couldn't let myself get close to anyone because I was afraid how they would react."

"Randy slipped through your defences," John commented.

"Well, Randy can be… persistent."

"I know," he said, smiling slightly in spite of the circumstances. "But you never told anyone all these years?"

"I told one person about two years ago." In response to John's puzzled look, he continued, "It was Sam. She got upset with me one time because I wouldn't hold the baby. It's weird; they promote me as a kid-friendly wrestler, but I've made sure I've never been alone with a child, even for a few minutes, ever since."

"Obviously, Sam understood."

"She did," he said, "and she encouraged me to tell you."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I'll fly back to Tampa tomorrow and talk to my lawyer about getting out of my contract," he answered. "Will you do one more thing for me?"

"Anything I can."

"You can tell Randy I'm leaving, but will you ask him not to say anything to anyone? Not for my sake, but my family's; especially my brother. Mike's in the same business; it would hurt him if it got out. He shouldn't have to suffer on my account."

Oh, I'll talk to Randy, John thought, but said, "Of course, but promise me you won't do anything rash."

A ghost of a smile flickered across Evan's swollen mouth. "I wouldn't do anything like that to my family. I've caused them enough trouble already."

John realised that Evan was too shocked and grief-stricken to be able to stand any more conversation. "I'll say good night to you now," he said, standing up, "but can I call you during the week to see how you are?"

"If you want," Evan answered walking with him to the door, but his hand lingered on the knob. "John?"

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Thank you. Not just for tonight, but for the past weeks. They've been the best of my life." He took a deep breath. "You're probably the finest person I've ever met. I – I'll always be grateful that I knew you."

John wrapped his arms around Evan and held him close, gently rubbing his back as his shoulders shook for a few seconds, but then he pulled away, the blandly smiling mask back in place as he held the door open and waited for John to leave.

XXXXX

John drove back to the hotel, his mind reeling over what he had learned that night. He had seen a few photos of a skinny teenaged Evan and could easily picture the bullies at school tormenting him and his desperation and unhappiness. One of his own greatest shames was that during high school he had frequently been one of those tormentors; his size and athletic ability sparing him from the taunts that he had directed at others as he sought to deny his true nature.

No wonder he had withdrawn from the human race, he thought, his heart aching at the thought of the years of loneliness and self-imposed isolation he had endured. Although some might find it strange that he would have pursued a career in wrestling, John could understand why. He could see the appeal in pouring all of his enthusiasm and zest for life into an in-ring persona. Most of them fought for balance in their lives; fought to retain enough energy to allow themselves a life outside the ring. But not Evan, he realised; the relentless schedule, gruelling travel and physical demands were perfect for someone who wanted to move through real life without feeling or being seen.

How could he help him, he wondered as he lay sleepless in bed. He knew he needed to have a very serious conversation with Randy, but suspected the he would be in no mood to listen to anything he had to say. There was only one person who Randy would listen to. He peered at the bed-side clock; his own experience with toddlers was minimal, but he had yet to hear of a two year old who slept in, he thought as he waited for the minutes to crawl by until it was late enough to risk calling Sam.

XXXXX

"Will somebody please tell me what's going on?" Sam exclaimed as she took a seat in a small coffee shop not far from her home. "Evan's brother said he was in an accident, but didn't want to see or hear from anyone. Randy stomped in last night and wouldn't say a word. He went straight to the den and drank most of a bottle of whiskey. Then you called at the crack of dawn."

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"God no!" she said settling Alanna into a booster seat. "This one's been awake since five."

"Have you now?" John chortled as he chucked her under the chin.

She smiled up at him adoringly. "Cena sucks," she giggled.

"I am going to kill Randy and Bob for that," Sam said. "She kept it up all last night. Security almost busted a gut laughing."

"I'll bet they did," John laughed. Becoming serious, he continued, "But I needed to see you to talk about Evan."

"Is he hurt worse than Mike said? Is that what's been going on? Randy will be so upset; you know how fond he is of Evan."

John held up a hand to silence her. "Evan couldn't go on last night because Randy burst into my dressing room and beat the crap out of him."

"Oh my God!" she cried. "He found out, didn't he? I told Evan he should tell him because I knew something like this would happen."

"I guess he did, but, I imagine he only heard a small part of the story."

"So do I," Sam said scooping Alanna from the booster seat. "Randy's probably still sleeping off last night's booze. He's in for a very rude awakening."

Dropping a bill on the table for their untouched coffees, John walked with her to her car, unable to repress a pang of sympathy for Randy, waking up to a hangover and a furious Samantha.

XXXXX

By Thursday most of the swelling had subsided and Evan's bruises were turning a sickly yellowish-green. He had already begun to pack up most of his possessions although he had no idea where he was going. He would be seeing his lawyer that afternoon, but he anticipated no difficulty in being released from his contract once WWE brass learned the truth. Then he would sell his condo and move on. He was thankful that he had always been obsessively careful with his money. At least he would be able to survive and even live comfortably, no matter what he ended out doing.

He had attempted to repay his parents for all the money they had spent on his defence, but they wouldn't hear of it. In a strange sort of way, he was glad; he didn't deserve to be absolved of the guilt he had felt as he watched his parents forego vacations for years and teach summer school and night classes as they struggled to repay the second mortgage they had been forced to take.

Memories of that nightmarish time returned to haunt him: the police shouting at him and his own slurred replies; the reek of vomit and urine in the holding cell; his mother's pain and his father's disappointment; and at school: the whispers that followed him through the corridors as he tried desperately to shut them out and make himself fade away. Even after the charges were dropped and the gossip died down for lack of fresh information he remained silent: afraid to talk to girls as he was labelled a rapist and afraid to speak with boys as he heard chants of "Faggot!" in his head.

Not that he'd lived as a monk for the past ten years. He found a grim irony in the notion that he, a supposed child-molester, should have had his first experience with a man twice his age, but he'd been gentle and kind and Evan had finally come to terms with himself. In the years since, there had been a few encounters and one very low-key relationship, but, telling himself that his chosen profession made it almost impossible to pursue anything serious, he opted to be alone.

He couldn't help but feel that he was the victim of some cosmic practical joke: that just as he opened up and allowed someone to become close to him, it should all come tumbling down around him, but, obviously, some people were meant to be alone. For a moment he found himself wishing he lived in the middle ages and could join some order of monks with a lifelong vow of silence.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud rap on his door. Expecting to see his superintendant, who was supposed to be coming in to fix a leaky tap, he opened it to find Randy standing in the hallway. Although tempted to slam it shut, he realised that Randy was fully capable of kicking the door down and wordlessly let him in.

"I promise," Randy said, holding his hands up, "I won't lay a finger on you."

"How did you get past the doorman?" he asked stonily.

"Easy. His son's a fan. I just so happened to have a pile of autographed pictures and shirts."

Evan knew there was no point in being annoyed with the doorman. Randy could probably talk his way past the pearly gates. "Then you can see for yourself," he said, gesturing to the boxes around him, "I'm moving on. I'll be seeing my lawyer later today. I won't be back."

"It's true," Randy said as he wandered around the bare room.

"What's true?"

"Swagger said that you didn't even have a TV."

"How would he know?" Evan snapped. "He was up here, once, for about five minutes. It's in the bedroom. Anyway, you didn't come all this way to check out my furniture."

"Actually, I did, in a way," he said coming close to Evan and tipping his chin up to inspect his bruised face. "Hmm, I must be losing my touch. I thought I'd broken your nose for sure."

Evan jerked his head away. "Well, you didn't. Now leave. Please," he pleaded. "I – I can't call the police. Please go."

"In a minute. Somebody once said that you lived like a fugitive; that you owned nothing of value; nothing you couldn't walk away from. I see they were right. And now I understand why." He took a seat. "You don't mind, do you? I'm rather tired; Sam's been making me sleep on the couch for the past couple of nights."

Evan's lip twitched in spite of himself. "Did she make you come here?"

"Not exactly, but she woke me up Tuesday morning and gave me a royal reaming. Then John started." He leaned forward. "Why didn't you tell me? All these years we've known each other," he burst out. "Why didn't you trust me?"

"Why didn't you trust me?" Evan cried. "After all these years," he parroted.

"What was I supposed to think? Did you ever once share anything about yourself? Did you ever once invite me or anyone else out for a drink or a burger? No!" he exploded. "Never! You'd go for days at a time barely saying a word to anyone, never reacting to anything going on around you. It's bizarre! It's creepy! How could I think anything, but the worst?"

"Sam didn't and neither did John."

"Because you told them, but you never said a word to _me_."

Evan was stunned by Randy's hurt expression, especially since he knew he spoke the truth. He had resolutely shut Randy out over the years, accepting his kindness and friendship and offering very little in return. "You're right," he said. "I have no excuse for how I treated you, except…"

"Except what?" he asked gently.

"Except that I idolised you; I adored you. Not like _that_," he added quickly, "but you were always my ideal. I couldn't bear the idea that you might think badly of me, so it was easier not to let you know me."

"But why? You know I have a similar incident in my past."

"I know," Evan said, sitting beside him, "but I never believed it."

"Then shouldn't you have given me the same chance?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry I didn't."

"And I'm sorry, too. Not just for this," he said, running his finger across Evan's bruised cheek, "but for spoiling your return; for ruining your homecoming show. I'll make it up to you, somehow, I swear."

Before Evan could reply, he heard another knock at the door. "That's probably the super," he said as he opened the door.

"I figured you'd either killed him or heard him out by now," John said as he strolled in.

Evan moved a box from a chair. "Do you guys want some coffee?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"No thanks," Randy said, "but do you have any apple juice?"

"No. Since when do you drink apple juice?" he asked. Catching sight of Randy's smirk, he groaned, "Don't tell me that Sam and Alanna are down there, too."

"'Fraid so," Randy said gravely. "We were saving the big guns for last."

Evan sighed and picked up the phone. "I'll tell the doorman to send them up."

"Just a second," John said, staying Evan's hand. "You do realise that _this_," he gestured at the boxes scattered around the room," isn't necessary. You're not going anywhere." He kept hold of Evan's hand and squeezed gently. "Understand?"

"I suppose I could argue about that with you," he said, "but I wouldn't stand a chance against those two." He called the doorman and opened the door.

Once Sam was inside, she took Evan's face between her hands. "Are you going to be all right?" she whispered.

He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of uncertainty. "I think so," he said.

Randy, meanwhile, had unstrapped Alanna from her stroller and, lifting her out, placed his daughter in Evan's arms, his eyes suspiciously bright.

"Evan hurt?' she asked, putting her little hand on his face.

"Yes, but it's going to be all right."

She pressed a smacking kiss on his cheek. "All better now?"

"Yes, sweetie," he said, his arms tightening around her, "it's all better now."

XXXXX

Half an hour later, Randy and Sam had left, stating their intention of taking Alanna to the nearby Florida Aquarium and John sat awkwardly on Evan's couch while the superintendant repaired the kitchen tap. "Good thing there weren't any more of us down there," he attempted to joke. "You would have run out of chairs."

"I don't have many visitors, but I guess you already figured that out." He opened one of the boxes and pulled out a few items. "Here," he said. "These are yours."

John looked at the laundered and ironed t-shirts. "I don't need them, unless I keep them as spares for whenever you're in my room."

"Or you could sign them and I'll give them to my doorman."

"Are you kidding? That guy got enough loot from Randy and me to open his own souvenir shop."

Finally alone, Evan hovered uneasily around the small room, fiddling with the boxes and their contents. "I guess I have to say thank you to you and Sam. It couldn't have been easy talking Randy around."

"Let's just say that I let Sam do most of the talking." He grinned at the memory of Randy cringing before his furious wife. "But you don't have to worry when you join up with everyone tomorrow. Randy and I will make sure that everyone knows that anyone, who talks about last Monday, will be buried. We'll use all our influence to keep it quiet."

"Don't!" Evan said. At John's look of surprise he continued, "If people know you and Randy are trying to shut them up, it will gain a whole new life. Let them think what they like and it'll die down in a few days." Suddenly, he smiled, "I was thinking of telling everyone that Randy beat me up because he was jealous."

"Over Sam or me?"

"Maybe both. It would serve him right."

"He'd let you, too," John said. "He really does feel terrible."

"I know."

"And you?" John asked, catching hold of him and pulling him down to sit on the couch. "How do you feel? _Really_?"

"I'm not sure. It feels like one of those dreams where you're naked in a room full of people and, suddenly, they all notice and start laughing at you. I guess I should cancel that appointment with my lawyer."

"I don't think so," John said thoughtfully. "Vince already knows what happened Monday night. Randy insisted that it was entirely his fault and Vince has given him a huge fine, but he's going to want to talk to you. I think you should get some advice from your lawyer and tell Vince everything."

"I can't!" Evan cried.

"Look," he said. "Chances are the story will surface again someday. Now Vince can be pretty harsh and vindictive at times, but if there's one thing he really hates it's surprises. I'm not saying there's not a chance he will fire you on the spot, but give him a chance. Talk to your lawyer and find out all your options."

"I have to be there in an hour and he'd charge for the time anyway if I cancelled this late. I guess it can't hurt to talk to him. But what about you?" he asked. "You must have things to do. We have to be in Illinois tomorrow. If you stick around for a couple of hours, I'll drive you to the airport."

"Actually," he said with a sheepish grin, "I have a bag downstairs. There's nothing stopping me from going straight to the arena from here."

"Oh God!" Evan exclaimed. "We'd better go and get it. My doorman will have probably sold your underwear on E-Bay by now. You might be needing those shirts back, after all."

"Then it's all right if I stay?"

"Of course," he said turning pink.

"But you know you can still take as much time as you need," John said. "I won't put any pressure on you."

"John," Evan said, curling his arms around the bigger man's neck, "there is _no_ way I'd expect you to sleep on this couch."

John pulled him onto his lap and dipped his head, pressing his lips against Evan's and kissed him gently. "Let's get my bag and, when you come back, we'll go find something to eat."

Having retrieved his bag, John returned to Evan's unit. He had said he didn't expect to be much more than an hour and that John was welcome to help himself to anything he wanted in the fridge. Easier said than done, John realised as he stared into Evan's fridge, bare except for a carton of milk, a few bottles of water and a couple of tubs of salad from the deli. Poking in the cupboards, he found they were equally empty: a pound of coffee, some pasta and half a dozen cans of soup.

His heart lurched; had Evan lived like this all these years, so afraid to put down roots that he wouldn't even stock his kitchen? He already knew the answer. Taking a bottle of water, he wandered around the living room and, unable to resist, opened the bedroom door. With a certain amount of relief, he noted that Evan had a double bed; given his Spartan living conditions, he wouldn't have been surprised to have seen a single cot. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of it, however, made with military precision, and suspected that, if he were to open the drawers, he would find the same rigid order. In a way, he realised, it was sad; his need for absolute control over every part of his life.

The room was as bare as the rest of the unit; it could have been a furnished rental waiting for a tenant, it was so devoid of personal effects except for a couple of shelves of books. Then he noticed a few framed photographs on the night table: his parents and his brother, one of him and Sam, holding Alanna in his arms, one obviously taken in Japan, and one of him with Randy, probably taken when he was about seventeen. Worried that he might be caught snooping, he studied the bookshelf and selected one, returning to the living room.

He became so engrossed in the book that he failed to notice time passing and looked up in surprise as Evan opened the door. "Hey! How'd it go?"

"He says that officially Vince can't fire me, since there's no actual record, but if he decides to, I'd have a hell of a time fighting it."

"So, what are you going to do?"

"I haven't really made up my mind yet. Although I'd like to stop having this thing hanging over my head, I don't want to have to give up my career. But I have a day or two to think about it."

"I guess," John said. "So, what do you want to do for the rest of the day? I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"There's a nice seafood restaurant a few minutes from here and then we could go to the beach, if you like. There are a few fairly quiet stretches nearby."

"Sounds good," John replied. "Lead on."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting at a table on a terrace overlooking the bay. "This is really nice," John said. "Do you come here often?"

"Once in a while."

"So what do you do on your time off?"

"You know; work out, read, watch TV. Until my injury I hadn't really been off for more than a few days at a time. I always thought I'd like to try snorkelling sometime," he answered. "There are some good spots for diving around here. What about you?"

"Same thing; it's funny, we all complain about never having any time at home, but most of us don't have a clue what to do when we're there. Of course, I have a lot of family nearby." He looked across the sparkling water, the sun glinting off it, "I don't blame you for moving here. It's still cold, grey and wet up in Massachusetts. I think I could take to being a beach bum."

"I think you'd get bored fairly quickly," Evan replied, "but if you'd care to try it for a few days sometime…" He flushed and stared down at his iced tea.

"I would," John said with a smile, reaching out and squeezing Evan's forearm. "Can I ask you something?"

The wariness appeared again, but he said, "Sure."

"I think I understand a few things now about the way you are, but did you ever see anyone? You went through a terrible experience at a time in your life when you were already confused and troubled."

"No," he said. "My parents offered to send me for counselling. After all, they _are_ teachers; they know a lot about young people, but I said no. I knew they really couldn't afford it."

"You should think about it."

"I know," he sighed, "but I spent most of the past ten years _not_ talking. I honestly don't know if I could start." Suddenly, his features clouded "I'm scared. What if, after all this time, there's really nothing there? What if I really am the Invisible Man?"

Looking at Evan's troubled face, John felt a great wave of tenderness, but remained silent as the waiter brought their meals. As soon as they were alone again, he spoke, "I promise you: there is a great deal there; more than you know. And," he continued quietly, "how could I have fallen in love with an invisible man? Now, let's eat and then we'll go for a walk on the beach."

John spent the rest of the meal making Evan laugh with tales of his childhood and the mayhem he and his brothers had wreaked until Evan responded with stories from his own youth and early days of his career. An hour later, they found themselves sitting on the sand of an almost deserted stretch of beach, just above where the water broke.

"This is great," John said, looking out across the water. "It's so calm and peaceful. We don't get that too often in our business."

"You should see it during Spring Break," Evan chuckled. "It's a zoo."

"I'm sure it is. That's why it's so nice to be alone now."

Evan stared out at the bay. "I – I'm tired of being alone," he said in a low voice. "I would walk along here most mornings. Some days I'd turn around to make sure that I was leaving footprints because I wondered if I even existed." Before John could answer, he suddenly pointed to the water. "Look!" he said indicating a creature moving below the surface. "It's a dolphin!"

He shaded his eyes and squinted. "My God! It is! That's incredible!"

"I see them occasionally along here when it's quiet. I'm so glad you got to see it, too."

"So am I," John said as it disappeared from view. "It's… special."

"It is," Evan replied. "You know there are all sorts of legends about dolphins guiding lost sailors home. Sometimes, when I would see one, I would think about following it; just swimming and swimming until I couldn't go any further. And then I'd be… home."

John felt his throat close at the thought of the years of solitude and loneliness Evan had endured. "You don't have to be alone any more," he said in a suspiciously gruff voice as he covered Evan's hand with his own.

"I know," he said, smiling up at him, "and that's why I'm so glad to have seen him today. Maybe it's a sign."

"Of what?"

He twined his fingers with John's. "That I'm where I'm meant to be; that I'm home.

XXXXX

They returned to Evan's place just as the sun was beginning to set, having stopped to buy cold cuts, bread and a six-pack of beer along the way.

"Do you live on air?" John asked. "This has got to be the barest kitchen I have ever seen."

"I'm usually only home a few days week and I live alone. Why would I waste my money on a bunch of food that would probably go bad?" he retorted.

"I see your point," he agreed, thinking of a few science experiments growing in his refrigerator.

They settled on the couch with a beer. "What are Sam and Randy doing?" Evan asked. "I should have offered to take them out to dinner tonight."

"Sam already made it clear to Randy that their presence wouldn't be required. They've got a hotel room; tomorrow, they'll be flying up to Illinois and Randy's bus will meet them. She and Alanna are going to travel with him for a few days. They've got some stupid bit planned for Monday with Punk terrorising her."

"Should be the other way around. That woman can be an absolute tigress," Evan chuckled.

"I'll say. You should have seen her Tuesday morning when she laid into Randy."

"She's always been very good to me."

"I'm glad," John said. "I'm glad you haven't felt entirely alone these past few years."

"It was mostly my own doing," he replied. "But," he said, deliberately taking the beer can from John and pulling his head down, "I'm not alone now."

"And you won't be, for a long time, if I have anything to do with it," he said pulling Evan onto his lap.

Evan straddled his hips and took his face between his hands. "Do you remember when I said you were the finest person I ever met?" As John nodded, he continued, "It's true. You've given me so much. I don't know if I have anything much to give you, but whatever it is, it's yours. I love you."

"That's all I want," John murmured, wrapping his arms around Evan. "And I love you, too," he said as Evan's mouth covered his. He returned his kisses, slowly and gently at first, then with increasing passion as Evan's lips became greedier and more demanding, as his tongue slipped into his mouth and his fingertips gently traced the contours of his face. John freed the shirt from the waistband of Evan's jeans and carefully pulled it over his head, holding it up with a sly grin. "Looks like this one's intact," he laughed.

"Good thing," Evan muttered as he nipped at John's throat. "I was on the verge of running out.

"Maybe you should just not wear a shirt around me from now on," he said. "Then I could do this," he drew his fingertips along Evan's back, laughing softly as he caught his breath and sighed with pleasure, "whenever I wanted."

"Only if you do the same," he said, impatiently pulling John's shirt off and moving his mouth across his chest until he caught his nipple between his teeth and teased it with his tongue before turning his attention to the other. John groaned as Evan fumbled to open his jeans and grasped his hardness as it sprung forth. The sensation of Evan's hand moving along his length as his mouth continued to trace patterns across his broad chest was almost too much for him. Supporting his buttocks with one hand as the other cradled the back of his head, John stood, easily lifting Evan.

"Let's move this somewhere more comfortable," he said as he carried Evan to the bedroom. Laying him gently on the bed, he stripped off his socks, jeans and shorts to stand naked before him. Turning on the bedside lamp, he climbed onto the bed. "I want to be able to see you. No more Invisible Man, do you hear?"

He knelt between Evan's legs and tugged down his jeans and briefs, his mouth closing over Evan's shaft. Evan arched up towards him, and, overcome by the moist heat and gentle suction of John's mouth, burst forth,

"I'm sorry," he said once the spasms had subsided. "It's been a long time for me. I should have warned you."

"It's all right," John soothed, drawing him into his arms. "If I wanted a sixty-minute man, I'd go after Ric Flair," he said, laughing at the face Evan made. "We have lots of time to get this right."

Evan rolled on top of him. "I've wasted too much time already," he said, smoothing his hands down the bulky muscles of John's arms. He lowered his head to press a series of kisses along John's torso, some so light that John could barely feel his lips against his flesh, some slow and deliberate, that left faint trail of moisture that made his skin prickle as it cooled. He circled John's navel with slow, lapping stokes that made the big man squirm beneath him and, finally, he dipped his head lower.

John made low sounds of pleasure as Evan's tongue tormented him, flickering out to lick his shaft with quick, teasing darts, sometimes not touching him at all as his warm breath passed along his length. Thrusting upwards, he tried, without success, to increase his contact with Evan's mouth, but as the other man laughed softly, he lay back and gave himself up to Evan's subtle touches until his hands were clawing at the sheets and he was panting harshly with need.

Evan sat back on his heels, revelling in the sight of John, groaning and thrashing with desire, but making no attempt to take control or dominate him. How right he had been to trust this man, he thought. For an instant, he marvelled at the fates that should have delivered him, alone, adrift and afraid, into his embrace. And now he could wait no longer until they became one.

He fumbled in his night table drawer until he found a small bottle of lube. "I don't know if this stuff expires," he said, handing it John "but it hasn't been used in a long time."

He understood the message in these words. "I'll be as careful as I can," he said. "Will you tell me if I hurt you too much or if you want me to stop?" He stroked Evan's face tenderly. "Like I said, we have lots of time to get this right."

He caught John's hand, kissing his fingertips, "And like I said, I don't want to waste any more time."

John moved down the bed and coated his fingers thickly with lube. He poured a generous amount between Evan's buttocks and lifted his legs over his shoulders, slowly pressing in one finger. Evan caught his breath, but seemed to accept him with little trouble as he moved his finger. Watching his face intently, he pushed in a second finger. This time, Evan's distress was visible, but he thrust his buttocks towards John, encouraging him to continue. Curling his fingers inside the younger man, he was rewarded with a hoarse cry as he sought and found Evan's most sensitive spot. Taking care to brush against it, he began to move his fingers more quickly as he drank in the sight of Evan, flushed and panting, before him.

"John! Please!" Evan cried, stretching out his arms, "I need you!"

He carefully removed his fingers and retrieved his jeans, lying on the floor. Finding a condom in his wallet, he climbed back onto the bed and smoothed it on. He picked up the bottle of lube and tipped it over himself and poured more into Evan's crease. Finally, he grasped Evan's haunches and positioned himself at his entrance, slowly pushing forward.

Evan was tight, almost impossibly so, and, for a fleeting instant, John wondered how long it had been since his last encounter. Gritting his teeth to maintain control, he waited until he was sure that Evan had become accustomed to him and continued to press in gently. He could see that Evan was biting his lip, trying to hold back his cries of pain, but his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Are you all right?" he murmured. "Do you want me to stop?"

He shook his head and thrust his hips upwards until finally, he had accepted John's entire length. Although he was obviously experiencing considerable distress, he began to move, gasping and straining upwards. John took firm hold of his hips and drove forward, carefully angling himself until Evan's eyes flew open and he cried out. He took Evan's length in his hand and began to pump him in time with every thrust, watching his face all the while.

John could feel his own climax approaching, but, determined to take Evan with him, he slowed his hips and moved his hand faster as he felt Evan dig his fingers into his shoulders until he tensed and spilled over his hand. He remained still for a moment, watching Evan recover himself and caught hold of his hands, twining his fingers with his own, pinning them over his head as, finally, he surrendered to Evan with a low groan.

He slumped over him for a moment before pulling gently away, rolling onto his back and gathering Evan into his arms.

"Evan?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you going to do now?"

"When you let me up, I'm going to clean myself up and go make us some sandwiches."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," he sighed, raising himself on his elbow to look at John. "If Vince fires me, I'll have to move on, but I won't have to make any immediate decisions; I've saved my money."

"I can tell," John replied, looking around the bare room. "So you're going to tell Vince?"

"I think so. This has been hanging over me long enough. Maybe I'll go back to Japan."

John felt his heart sink at these words, but said nothing. "And if he doesn't fire you?"

"Then there's no reason to make any changes, except," he grinned, "to my travel arrangements."

He climbed out of the bed and went into the bathroom. He returned a moment later and pulled on his briefs and jeans, but when John began to dress he raised his hand, "I thought we agreed: no shirts."

John laughed and dropped his shirt, following Evan into the kitchen clad only in his jeans. "We'll make an exception if we're cooking bacon, but seriously," he continued, "will you make some changes around here?"

"Like what?"

"Like buying furniture that doesn't look like it came from the Salvation Army or getting cable."

"As a matter of fact, I _do_ have cable," he retorted, but smiled sheepishly as he added, "I got it when I was injured and stuck at home. I was actually planning to cancel it. I know what you're trying to say," he said as he cut their sandwiches, "but even if Vince doesn't fire me, it doesn't mean he won't if it ever becomes public. I still have to keep that in mind. And" he added, his features hardening, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to meddle with my living arrangements."

Taken aback by Evan's tone, he silently accepted the plate Evan offered him and sat at the table. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. I don't have the right to tell you how to live."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. Anyway, it's pointless discussing it until I know what's going to happen." He took a bite of his sandwich. "Tell you what," he said, "I'll buy a few more cans of soup and, if you like watching TV in bed, I'll keep the cable."

"I assure you," John said, waggling his eyebrows, "that watching TV is the _last_ thing I want to do in your bed."

"Then hurry up and finish your sandwich so you can show me what some of the others are."

XXXXX

John soon realised that Evan was proud and prickly and fiercely independent as he insisted on paying his share for the car rental and hotels in Illinois and, again, in Atlanta, as they plunged into Wrestlemania week. Nor would he share his dressing room, preferring to change in the locker rooms with the rest of the mid-card.

"God, he's stubborn" John complained to Randy on the Friday before Wrestlemania. "Hopefully, after his meeting with Vince, he'll relax a bit."

"So, he's going to tell Vince?"

"That's what he says."

"Maybe I should go with him," Randy said. "It's my fault that all this is happening."

"I'd like to see you try," John chuckled. "I offered and I thought he was going to take my head off. Anyway, he's with Vince now."

Neither John nor Randy had any opportunity to speak with Evan that day, caught up as they were in Wrestlemania activities. John spied him once or twice; he was pale and, when not interacting with the fans, withdrawn and silent once again, but he took his continued presence as a good sign.

Finally, late that night, he returned to their hotel room, to find Evan sitting up in the bed scowling over his glasses at a book. "I guess the fact that you haven't packed your bags and run away means that Vince didn't fire you."

"No, he didn't, but you're right about one thing: he definitely _doesn't_ like surprises."

"So what happened?"

"He actually appreciated that I told him myself. He said he admired my guts, but it doesn't change the fact that I am now a potential PR nightmare. For the time being, I'm safe, but I'll be out on my ass it ever becomes public."

"I'm sorry," John said, "I was hoping it might put an end to having this hanging over you."

"We both know that will never happen," Evan said with a wry smile, "and there's more."

"What?"

"Let's just say that my career is pretty much done. Vince says they can't afford to push me now. What if it came out and I was being promoted? It's jobber detail and mid-card matches from now on."

"That's not fair!" John exclaimed. "Why should you have to keep paying for something that isn't your fault? Maybe Randy and I could talk to him."

"Don't you dare!" Evan burst out. "No, I'm not happy about it, but, at least, the people whose opinions I care about know the truth and that's the most important thing."

John finished undressing and climbed into the bed, drawing Evan into his arms. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I wish there was some way I could help you."

"But you have helped me," Evan said, nuzzling his neck. "More than you'll ever know. I spent ten years alone, living in fear. I'm still worried about what might happen, but I'm not afraid any more."

"And you're not alone any more," John whispered as he sought his mouth.

XXXXX

The weeks following Wrestlemania were difficult for them both. John's heart ached as he watched Evan being reduced to squash matches and the occasional Superstars taping, but Evan flatly refused to talk about it. He tried to remain patient, telling himself that years of isolation were bound to leave scars, but couldn't help letting his exasperation show on occasion.

When they were alone, Evan was affectionate and responsive, but John could feel his tension as whispers followed them down arena corridors when they arrived or left together. As for Randy, he was crushed by the guilt he felt over his part in Evan's relegation and attempted to make amends with increasingly extravagant gestures until Evan was forced to protest to Sam.

"He keeps getting my flights upgraded. The first time I thought it was some sort of airline promotion, but it keeps happening," he complained over the phone.

"I'll try to talk to him," she said, "but he really feels terrible."

"I know he does, but he's getting out of hand. He insists on picking up my tab whenever he sees me eating. It's gotten to the point where I have to order all my meals from drive-throughs _and_ make sure he's not following me in that darn bus."

"Good thing I talked him out of buying you a new car," she laughed.

"What?" he exclaimed, his voice rising to an indignant squeak.

"He heard you telling John that you were having some sort of trouble with yours. He was all set to buy you a brand-new Mustang. Don't worry," she added, "I managed to convince him that it wasn't a good idea. You _do_ like motorcycles, though, don't you?" she asked innocently, bursting into laughter as Evan began to sputter down the phone.

He pocketed his phone and sighed. Randy meant well, but his persistent hovering as he attempted to impress on the company that there was no bad blood between them, in spite of the incident in St Louis, simply drew more eyes to him and that was something he could do without. The storm of gossip about him and John was bad enough, but he had been somewhat prepared for that. He knew he was beginning to tax John's patience as he began to draw away, but the speculative gazes and whispers were becoming more than he could bear.

Thank God the locker room was deserted, he thought as he began to undress. Although he was tempted to take John up on his offer to share his dressing room, he was counting on the fact that their liaison would soon become old news and he would be left alone. But he wasn't going to be that fortunate today, he realised as Otunga and McGillicutty strolled in.

"Hey! It's Cena's little puppy dog," McGillicutty laughed.

"More like Cena's little bitch," Otunga sneered, gesturing to an obviously hand-shaped bruise on Evan's haunches. "So, what's it like taking on one of the big boys?"

Evan studiously ignored them both as he attempted to dress without seeming to hurry.

"I guess he thinks he's too good to talk to us now he's getting fucked by Cena," McGillicutty said in a mock sorrowful tone.

"Oh! Evan never talks. Everyone knows that."

"You know," McGillicutty said thoughtfully, "it must be awfully hard to hold a conversation when your mouth is full of John's cock."

"Or Randy's."

Evan's head flew up and both smiled nastily, realising that their words had finally found their mark. He tried to stand, but Otunga pushed him back down as both loomed over him. "So, tell us, Evan," Otunga asked silkily, "do they take turns? Who goes first?"

"Who gets sloppy seconds?"

"Maybe he takes them both at the same time. He must know some pretty good tricks to keep those two interested."

And, suddenly, all the rage he had contained for years: while he ignored the taunts of the jocks, while he shut out the whispers that followed him down the corridors at school, every time he walked into his empty home with a sinking heart, when he ached with loneliness during his recovery and as he watched the days and months of his life slip by stretching out to ten barren years, burst forth.

Shaking off Otunga's hands on his shoulders, he leapt to his feet and punched him with all his strength, taking grim pleasure in the other man's look of surprise as he crumpled to the floor. Before he could react, Evan launched himself at McGillicutty, bringing him down as well. His fist connected with the taller man's nose with a satisfying crunch and he pulled his arm back, ready to deliver another blow. He didn't expect to come out of this encounter as the winner, but he was determined to inflict as much damage as he could.

Before he could swing again, his arm was caught in an iron grasp and he was pulled off the fallen man. "You've made your point," Sheamus said. "These two will think twice about opening their nasty mouths again. I think it would be best all round if everybody here were to forget what just happened." He handed McGillicutty a towel to staunch the blood flowing from his nose. "I don't think Randy or John would be too happy to hear what you were saying about them. And David," he added with a grin, "you'd better get some ice. You're going to have quite a black eye tomorrow."

Still holding his arm, he led Evan from the locker room whistling "Two Lovely Black Eyes." He turned to Evan, "Are you all right?"

Evan nodded, "But I left my bag in there."

Sheamus smiled and stopped a passing member of the ring-crew. "Would you do us a favour? Evan left his bag in the locker room, but Otunga and McGillicutty are having a lovers' quarrel."

A minute later, the hugely grinning man handed Evan his bag as Sheamus smirked and tapped the side of his nose. "Do you need a ride or does Randy have a chauffeured limousine waiting for you again?" he asked.

"I was waiting for John," Evan replied, unable to help the flush that crept up his neck and cheeks.

"Send him a text and I'll take you back to the hotel. You're looking rather shaky."

Evan allowed himself to be borne off to Sheamus's car, but, as they pulled out of the parking lot, he asked, "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to know those two have minds in the gutter. I don't blame you for doing what you did."

"Maybe not, but it's my second backstage incident in a month."

"They won't say a word," Sheamus stated. "They'd be far too embarrassed to admit that you surprised them both like that and if John didn't kill them, Randy would."

"I hope you're right," Evan sighed, "and thank you. You probably saved me from a royal ass-kicking."

"My pleasure," he said. Sheamus remained silent during the drive back to the hotel, but Evan could feel his eyes on him. Finally, as he parked the car, he spoke again, "I think John's a lucky man."

Evan's head snapped around to face him. "Don't you mean I'm a lucky man?"

"No. I've known you for a few years now; maybe not as long as some of the others, but I remember the night you laid out that boy in the club. I always thought that there was a great deal more to you than you let on. John's a lucky man to have found it."

Evan couldn't think of anything to reply to this, but just as he was about to thank Sheamus and get out of the car, the big Irishman spoke again, "Did I ever tell you about the time I met a fellow, who went to school with you?" As Evan stared at him, he continued, "I don't suppose I did, but he had a very interesting story to tell."

"How long have you known?" Evan managed to ask.

"Two years, maybe three. That must have been a terrible time for you." There was no mistaking the compassion in his gaze. "It's odd how you can know a person for years and know nothing about them, isn't it? But that's the way you wanted it."

Evan nodded.

"Now, I'll shut up before you start thinking I'm some sort of loud-mouthed Irishman, who can't keep his opinions to himself," he grinned, "but you should remember that there are a large number of people in this company who would like to get to know you. Give them a chance."

He sat silent for a moment. "I – I think I should head up to my room now."

"Do that," Sheamus replied. "And have a stiff drink; you're very pale. You look like a ghost."

"Takes one to know one." The words popped out before he realised what he was saying, but the other man burst out laughing and bid him good night.

XXXXX

In the room, Evan stripped down to his briefs and scanned the mini-bar, but decided against Sheamus's advice to take a drink. He was exhausted, however; the adrenaline from earlier having run out. He stretched out on the bed and put his hands behind his head, reflecting on the events of the evening. His rage in the locker room surprised him, but not nearly as much as his encounter with Sheamus.

To think he had known all this time and never betrayed it by look or word. Was it possible that others knew as well and had kept their counsel? Yes, he realised, but he suspected that was what Sheamus had been trying to tell him. "_There are a large number of people in this company who would like to get to know you. Give them a chance_."

No, he had never given anyone a chance. He remembered the hurt in Randy's voice that day in Tampa. "_Did you ever once share anything about yourself? Did you ever once invite me or anyone else out for a drink or a burger? No!_"

That was going to change, he decided. Tomorrow he'd call someone in the Wellness Program and see about some counselling. He knew he couldn't set aside the habits of ten years without help, nor could it happen overnight, but he could make a start. He picked up his phone and punched in Randy's number.

"Hey Randy, it's Evan," he said as soon as Randy answered. "Just shut up and listen to me for a minute. Stop messing around with my flight reservations and stop trying to pay for my meals. You fucked up, but it's in the past. Over. Done. Do you hear me? The past is done. Tomorrow night, I'm taking you out for a burger after the show and you will let me pay and the next time you're in Florida, I'm taking you, Sam and Alanna to Disneyworld. Oh, and one more thing, don't you _dare_ buy me a motorcycle. Understand? Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

He pushed the end button and sat back laughing. He checked the bedside clock; John should be back soon. He hoped he wasn't too tired because he hadn't finished talking tonight; not by a long-shot.

XXXXX

John let himself into the room about twenty minutes later. "Are you all right?" he exclaimed as he hurried over to the bed. "You didn't say anything in your text."

"I'm fine," he replied, pulling him down for a kiss. "I'll explain in a minute."

"Thank God!" he said. "There must be a full moon tonight; everyone seems to have gone crazy. Otunga and McGillicutty got into some locker room fight. They won't say a word about what happened, but one of the crew says it was a lovers' spat. I didn't even know those two were… And Randy got a call just as we were about to leave. All he said was, 'Yes,' 'Okay,' and 'I understand.' Then he burst out laughing and stood there grinning like a goon. And then I rode the elevator with Sheamus. I swear he was completely loaded; he kept mumbling about how some people don't know how lucky they are."

"Oh!" Evan said, taken aback by this last piece of information. "Get comfortable and I might be able to explain some of this."

John emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, showered and clad only in his boxers. Climbing onto the bed, he leaned back against the headboard, drawing Evan between his legs, so his back rested against his chest. "Okay," he said, "start talking."

Evan recounted the episode in the locker room as John alternated between laughter and anger. "No wonder they won't talk about it!" he said. "Still, I'd like to get my hands on those two."

"Well don't. I can't afford to be involved in another brawl. I owe Sheamus big-time; he saved my ass and, probably, my job." He went on to tell of his conversation in the car. "He's known for years and never said a word. There probably are others. It feels like this huge weight has been taken away from me. Don't you see?"

John saw, and, thinking of the Irishman in the elevator, understood a great deal more, but he realised that was a conversation Evan wasn't ready for yet.

"So, I'm going to talk to them about getting some help. You're right about that. I know I can't change all at once," he said, twisting around to look at John, "but I can _try_."

He felt his heart clench at the desperate appeal in Evan's face. "I don't want you to _change_; I just want you to be happy. I want to see you enjoy life and you know what?" he stated, "if you discover that you enjoy life best living in a place with two second-hand chairs and four cans of soup in the cupboard, that's fine. Live that way because you want to, not because you think you have to."

"I am happy when I'm with you," he said, curling his arms around John's neck, "but I just realised something."

"What's that?"

"I want to be happier. I want to have friends; I want to have fun. Hell, I even want to have enemies. The Invisible Man can't piss anyone off."

"Well, you probably got that wish tonight."

"I know," he grinned. "Isn't it great?" Becoming serious, he continued, "What I'm trying to say is that I want a life, before it's too late. And I want you to be part of it: the best part. I'm warning you: it won't be easy. I'll probably drive you crazy in a thousand different ways."

"You probably will," John chuckled, "but I wouldn't miss it for anything."

XXXXX

The following night, Evan took Randy out for a burger and, for the first time, opened his heart completely to his friend. It was a long and often difficult conversation as he humbly begged his pardon for years of silence and apparent indifference to his many kindnesses, but it laid the foundation for a true friendship that would endure.

A week later, despite John's misgivings, he invited Sheamus out for a meal. He returned very quiet and refused to discuss what had been said, but it became obvious that he had formed a bond with the other man, who treated him with a gentle affection from then on.

Although he experienced set-backs and could still withdraw into himself, with his counsellor's help, he slowly began to open up to others and in trusting John, Randy and Sheamus, he learned to trust others. Much to his surprise, neither Otunga nor McGillicutty seemed to bear him any ill-will and, in fact, treated him with a grudging respect.

John sometimes ruefully noted that he had been accurate in his prediction that he would probably drive him crazy as he tried to find a balance between the habits of years and his new-found desire to embrace life. He still worried that one day his past would become public, but no longer allowed that fear to rule his life.

"Maybe I'll just become a kept man," he had said with a wide grin. "You know, wait for you to come home, wearing an apron and holding a martini."

In spite of these words, he knew Evan was not yet ready for anything permanent. They travelled together and often spent a day or two together during their time off and, although Evan still refused to share his dressing room, he had become intensely proud and protective of John, as several of the mid-card learned to their astonishment when they were heard grumbling about the booking committee's plans to put the belts back on John and Randy.

"Why shouldn't they?" he shouted, backing Truth up against a bank of lockers one night. "John and Randy are the faces of this company! They're the ones who put the asses in the seats! Those people out there aren't paying to see you or me; they want John and Randy and that's what they're getting."

He knew his outburst had only added fuel to the occasional ugly whispers about his relationship with John and Randy, but he no longer cared. He loved John and Randy was his closest friend and he was fiercely proud of those things. Both John and Randy had roared with laughter when Evan repeated the tale one afternoon at Randy's house.

"I don't suppose you two ever imagined you'd have Evan defending your honour," Sam laughed as she brought Alanna into the room, trailed by a golden lab and a small brown puppy of indeterminate origin.

"Yes," Randy said, rolling his eyes, "I now live in the animal kingdom. I promised Alanna a dog, but when we went to the shelter, he wouldn't be parted from that puppy." His lips began to twitch. "What are their names, sweetheart?"

"John and Evan," she said, beaming up them.

"And the cat bosses the life out of them both," Randy said.

"Did the cat ever get a name?" John asked.

Randy looked around, making sure his wife was out of the room. "No, but when no one else is around, I call it Sam."

"I heard that," called a voice from the kitchen.

John leaned back in his chair laughing as Randy went to the kitchen and slipped his arms around Sam's waist and Evan sat on the floor with Alanna, gravely inspecting his namesake. Evan had travelled a long, hard road, alone and, for the most part, unseen and he still had a long way to go, but the silent, shadowy figure, moving through life without leaving a trace was receding further every day.

He remembered one recent dawn as they walked along the beach in Tampa. Evan had stopped and turned to look at their footprints in the sand.

"Just checking," he'd said.

"And what do you see?"

"Footprints." Suddenly, he smiled up at him. "Two sets."

"Damn right," he answered. "Yours and mine; side by side."

And as the sun rose, a playful school of dolphins broke the surface to see them return to Evan's home.


End file.
